Vincent stepped out the door, and straight into the void. This void, however, was slightly different. It was dotted with stars, millions and billions of stars, glittering, winking at him gently, as if to let him in on some great, cosmic joke. He hung there, suspended in space for a few short seconds, and then, he fell.
Shinra's failed attempt at launching their rocket into space with Cid Highwind as pilot had not been the only venture into the realms of the final frontier. Shinra had launched many experimental satellites into orbit to take pictures and to collect data of the atmospheric conditions of the universe outside of their own planet, Gaia. Much had been learned from these expeditions, including things like the existence of asteroids, what comets were mad of, and also, the fact that space was a void.
Which led Vincent to wonder, just how was he breathing?
He fell, feeling nothing that someone would normally feel when falling through the deepest chasms of the universe. There was no air, his cloak did not billow, his hair did not lash at his face, and his clothes did not flatten out against his skin. He just plummeted, faster and faster, trying to let go of the fact that he was defying all laws of physics, falling in space. It was entirely possible to move in space, to propel oneself by the propulsion of another object away from one's person, but this was something completely different.
He rocketed downward—or what he assumed was downward; you never could tell when you were in an infinite vacuum of darkness—and blinked rapidly as his speed increased and the stars became blurred, turning into lines of light and leaving impressions of their brightness on his retinas. It became too much to follow without getting hideously nauseous, so he closed his eyes, letting himself go with the fall.
After a few moments, he opened his eyes, just to check, and found that he was slowing down. It seemed that he had been slowing down for a couple of minutes, as the pace his body had been taking in this flight had lessened considerably and was still doing so. The stars were less stomach-turning to watch, so he kept his eyes open, shifting his gaze around for anything specific that might tell him why his descent was coming to a close. He happened to flick his gaze toward his feet and finally saw what was obstructing the path of his fall. In his vision, growing ever larger the closer he got to it, was a—planet? Asteroid? It looked like a lot of smaller rocks that had broken away from the larger body and were still traveling with the larger body.
The gap between he and it grew even smaller, and he saw that there was something else there, something much, much smaller than the first mass that Vincent had noticed. Nearer, nearer, until he realized that it was the form of someone familiar. Someone who was familiarly horrible. It figured that he would see him here at some point, taking into account the fact that his spirit was not one that would take being killed lightly. Killed twice, no less. And the first time, Vincent had been one of the ones to help destroy him.
Vincent had the brief thought that he was in deep shit.
His decent had slowed so that he landed neatly, gracefully, ten feet away from what he assumed to be the everlasting soul of Sephiroth—or at least the illusion of it. His feet did not make a sound as they were planted firmly in the hard, crumbling terrain underneath.
The young man's face was as flawless and unlined as ever, as perfect in death as it had been in life—feral, lethal, beautiful. His eyes were the same startling cat-green, luminescent against the black velvet background of space. His pupils were slitted, narrow, giving ever more the impression of a cat as he stared unerringly at Vincent. The tiniest of smirks hovered around his pale mouth. Vincent found it slightly maddening. It had always been slightly maddening. His pure silver hair fell—no, cascaded—down his back in silken, swaying curtains—despite the very obvious fact that there was no wind to speak of. Unfurled from his right shoulder was the very obvious black wing, its feathers gleaming dully in the light from the stars. Sephiroth lifted one imperious eyebrow at Vincent. Vincent just stared back, waiting.
"Vincent…Valentine? Is that the name of one of the insignificant fools who dared to challenge the mighty Sephiroth?" Vincent was silent. "I see that you choose to hold your tongue. Very well then, Vincent Valentine." His smirk stretched a bit. "Do you have any regrets about the choice you made?"
Vincent was slightly confused. "I would think, Sephiroth, that you are the one who should have regrets."
Sephiroth smiled.
"Why would I have regrets when I have clearly accomplished the very thing I set out to do?"
Vincent was now very confused. "You didn't accomplish anything. AVALANCHE defeated you. You're dead. Cloud finished you with Omni-slash."
With a wide sweep of his arms, Sephiroth gestured to the area around them, the humongous chunk of debris they were standing on. "This, Vincent Valentine, is what remains of the place you once called home."
Vincent stared at him, nonplussed momentarily. Then, he looked around at the wasted, barren landscape, almost uncomprehending at what his eyes were taking in and what this phantom was telling him. What was this madness? They had killed Sephiroth—twice! Once before Meteor fell from the skies and a second time when his remnants had surfaced to collect the last of the Jenova cells from the Northern Crater.
"You were defeated," Vincent said levelly, enunciating each word slowly and carefully. "I know this for a fact because I was there. I helped." He wasn't sure if reminding Sephiroth of that was such a great idea, considering it was just he and the madman there, him with no materia and definitely not a match for Sephiroth while by himself.
"You are confused, Vincent Valentine. I understand that in death, one's thoughts often become warped."
"I cannot be dead and standing here with you if you are alive."
"On the contrary, I have achieved my goal, and I have become the ultimate in Godhood, traveling the universe with your former planet as my vessel, as my mother did long before me. As a God, I can do what I like, when I like."
"You are no God."
Sephiroth smiled easily once more. Vincent was sickened. "Why do you refuse to believe me when all the evidence is laid before you as clearly as possible?"
"My memories say otherwise."
"Very well then. I shall have to show you."
- - - - - - - - - -
Sephiroth fell from the sky like a lightning bolt, straight down the column of light that illuminated the flower girl's prayer position. He swept Masamune down in one graceful arc, plunging his blade smoothly into her back with relish. He watched with a hungry smile as her last breath left her with one short, bubbling gasp. She slumped forward and his eyes trailed the length of the wicked blade as the blood ran down the metal in rivulets and dripped to the floor, pooling beneath her limp body. Sephiroth gave a sharp tug and his sword was free from her flesh, flinging ruby droplets in every direction.
With an almost inarticulate cry of the girl's name, Cloud dropped his weapon—foolish—and lunged forward to her side, falling to his knees and lifting her up to cradle her in his arms. His eyes were bright and wet as he stared down at her.
Sephiroth looked down at him coldly. "Do not worry. Soon the girl will become part of the Planet's energy. All that is left is to go North. The 'Promised Land' waits for me over the snowy fields. There I will become a new being by uniting with the planet. As will this girl…"
Cloud's eyes snapped up to him, crackling with anger. "…shut up!" he snapped, his voice low and gravelly with loathing. "The cycle of nature and your stupid plan don't mean a thing. Aeris is gone. Aeris will no longer talk, no longer laugh, cry…" He was choking now, his words coming in great, hiccupping sobs. "…or get angry. What about us? What are we supposed to do? What about MY pain? My fingers are tingling. My mouth is dry. My eyes are burning!"
Sephiroth chuckled, a sneer gracing his flawless, porcelain features. "What are you saying? Are you trying to tell me,"—his voice became mocking—," that you have feelings too?"
"Of course! Who do you think I am?"
This time, Sephiroth let out a few real barks of laughter. "Don't try to act as if you were sad. Don't even try to act angry, either. Because, Cloud, you are…"
Sephiroth chose to leave the rest to Jenova-LIFE. He didn't have time to deal with this nonsense. There were other things that needed tending to.
"Because, Cloud, you are a puppet…"
- - - - - - - - - -
Vincent stood in stone-silence. "What is your point? This happened long ago. I know this for a fact just as I know your defeat as a fact."
Sephiroth's poisonous smile was unnerving. "That was only the beginning."
- - - - - - - - - -
The scene was hectic. A boomerang-shuriken spun through the air, its deadly points gleaming. Bullets from two different sources pierced the flesh of their combined target, one stream spraying erratically, and one sequence aimed and fired calculatedly. The gleaming pinpoint of a long, sharp hairpin—that looked as though it should never be used for anyone's hair—found its mark, sinking in, and then causing even more damage as it was quickly ripped away. Fists flew at a lightning pace, almost invisible as they struck, one after the other, followed up by the occasional kick from a well-planted foot. Fire and Lightning magic sizzled through the air, heating the atmosphere, shocking and burning the target with frightening accuracy. The triangular point of a vicious-looking spearhead plunged straight into the flesh of the creature, wrenching this way and that way, tearing into the muscles and the bone. A humongous blade sliced through the enemy with motions that were akin to a knife through butter.
Everything suddenly stopped, and the disgusting form of Bizarro Sephiroth stopped functioning, its bulbous purple limbs ceasing in their incessant twitching movements. The group watched with bated breath, trying to ascertain any sign of life. After determining that the beast was indeed dead, they heaved a sigh of relief. It had not been an easy fight.
They had relaxed too soon. The body of their defeated foe vanished, blinking out of existence abruptly. So abruptly, actually, that several of them had to blink a couple of times before the event completely processed.
In its place appeared the familiar form of the man they had been goose-hunting around the globe for some time. He smirked at them, his single wing unfurling from its place at his back and extending to its full length magnificently. It hung there, suspended, as he stared down the bridge of his nose at all of them. He held out his left hand, and in it appeared the cruel blade that he called his own. Masamune. His green eyes burned with an all-consuming fire.
He was Sephiroth.
In a flash that no human eye could follow, he appeared in front of their blonde leader, and shoved the blade into an upward hooked motion, below Cloud's defenses. The ex-SOLDIER was caught off guard and his body convulsed, shuddering with great waves of pain at the blade that went through his gut and protruded outward from his upper back. His mako-blue eyes locked with Sephiroth's venomous emerald ones, and his body gave another heave, his hands loosening and his blade falling from his grip. Sephiroth stared him straight in the face and slowly, sickeningly…
…he smiled.
Cloud's knees gave out then and he slid down the blade just a bit, his head slumping forward and his eyes falling shut. He was not dead, just unconscious. The wound itself hadn't destroyed him, but the acid pouring from his perforated stomach would dissolve his insides to end in what would be an agonizingly slow death.
Sephiroth pulled his arm back, dislodging his sword and turning to the others of the group, who were transfixed, mesmerized by the sight of their once invincible leader, now lying on the ground, crumpled and dying. What was the body without a head?
Sephiroth phased out of sight again, reappearing in front of Barret. With a swift diagonal motion, his thick, bear-like body had been cut wide open, almost in half. He coughed, spewing blood and saliva, and fell forward, scarlet fluid leaking from the wound and filling the area around his body in a grotesque puddle. "Mar…lene…" he gasped out, blood leaking from his lips to add to the amount gathered around his body.
This sight, in of itself, was enough to set the others into motion. They scrambled, and bullets sang through the air from the long barrel of a shotgun: Death Penalty. Vincent's aim was true, but, unfortunately, the power of his weapon fell short. With merely a few flicks of his wrist, Sephiroth had deflected the bullets and they ricocheted off, useless, with sounds like a human cry.
A lethal boomerang-shuriken whizzed forward, thrown by Yuffie with all the strength she could muster. Sephiroth shifted his body slightly to the left and it sailed past. Yuffie tried not to let her face indicate that it was coming back around, as implied by the term "boomerang," but Sephiroth merely stepped slightly to the right this time and it came straight back, unimpeded, into Yuffie's trained hands.
Spells from several different sources sped to their mark, but Sephiroth was left unscathed. Tornado, Comet, Ultima, Fire3, Bolt3, Ice3. Sephiroth stood and took the attacks, remaining completely unscathed. A hand with an accessory bangle was lifted to reveal the slot that held the ruby-red gleam of Knights of the Round. They appeared out of nowhere, on horses, with lances and swords, slashing and hacking and swinging. When they vanished, Sephiroth was revealed, and his wounds were knitting quickly, too quickly for any natural person.
No one with a close-range weapon was stupid enough to try to move in for an attack, so they continued to run. There was nothing else to do. Two of the party were down—for good. They needed to regroup, and they needed to get away to regroup.
Too late, too slow.
Masamune found its mark vertically down the middle of the electronic Cait Sith, slicing it neatly in half, and continuing on to decimate its mount, the oversized mog. The mog raised its gigantic fists to try and ward away the onslaught of Masamune, but it was as if no fight had been attempted in return at all. Three down.
With a strangled shout, Tifa went down, one arm cut cleanly off and hole in her lung. She gurgled helplessly as the air deflated from the now useless organ and she flopped like a fish, staining her crisp white tank top with her own blood. Her wine-colored eyes were sightless and glazed from the extreme pain. Her chest heaved with the last bit of oxygen in her body.
A furious shriek turned the attention to Yuffie, whose eyes were ablaze with grief and hatred. She charged the madman, thrusting her Conformer into the air, following its path with a triumphant gaze as it rushed across air currents toward its target. Vincent took that opportunity to fire off two more shots. Sephiroth deflected the bullets and swung Masamune at the Conformer, all in one smooth movement. The Conformer rebounded and came back at the ninja at an utterly wrong angle. It hit her straight in the face, and she was knocked sharply backward, falling flat on her back, with her own weapon standing straight up, its deadly points stuck where they had initially struck.
Vincent reloaded lighting-fast and fired again, even knowing they wouldn't win. They couldn't win. But still, he had to fight. He had to go down fighting.
Red XIII made for a flying leap at Sephiroth from behind, just as Cid did the same from the front, brandishing the Venus Gospel. Vincent fired several rounds again. It didn't matter. Step back, bullets dodged. Swipe, Cid's head was no longer connected to his neck. Tilt the blade backward, Nanaki had been impaled. Jerk of the hilt, the feline-canine hybrid's limp form flew off, yards and yards away. Vincent watched, reloading all the while, and had just raised his gun to fire, when he saw a brief flash of silver, and the barrel fell off, cleanly disconnected from the rest of the gun. Vincent had one brief second to see Sephiroth bring the blade down toward his head before he was split wide open, fluids leaking out all over the ground, spreading from what was left of his skull.
He didn't move again.
And when Meteor fell from the sky, tearing the planet to shreds, Holy was almost useless.
And when the Lifestream flooded to the gaping wound in the planet's surface, no one was there to stop Sephiroth from absorbing every last drop of the planet's main power source and becoming a God himself.
- - - - - - - - - -
It took Vincent a moment to break away from the haze that clutched his brain after seeing those events played out that way, so baldly. Vincent had seen many things in his lifetime, and he had seen many people die in similar way, but he had never thought he would have to sit through the completely horrifying images of the only people he had ever considered friends being slaughtered. That's what that had been: a complete and total slaughter. It was like they hadn't even attempted to fend him off, everything they did was so useless! He blinked, bringing his eyes back into focus and fixing them on Sephiroth, rearranging his features to be impassive once more.
"Do you wish to eat your words now, Vincent Valentine?" Sephiroth said, that sly smile playing at his lips.
"I will not take back what I said. You were defeated. We beat you twice. You. Are. Dead. Holy stopped Meteor's progress, even though it was not without extensive damage done to Midgar."
"Are you so sure, Vincent Valentine? Would you like me to show you more? Would you like me to let you hear the sound of the planet's last dying cries? Would you like me to let you hear the screams of the humans as they were consumed by the fire of the Calamity From the Skies? Would this erase your doubt of what you have seen?"
Vincent bared his teeth. He had lost his patience. "I do not have time for this. Free me from this ridiculous illusion."
"Illusion? This is no illusion that you see before you, Vincent Valentine. Why can you not accept reality?"
Vincent spoke slowly, as if to someone mentally impaired. "This. Is. Not. Reality. You. Are Dead. Now let me leave."
Sephiroth's expression grew slightly dark. "I tire of this. I will not continue to reason with you, as it is a waste of my time. I will just dispose of you now."
Vincent's eyes glittered. "Fine."
"You have no protests to this?"
He met Sephiroth's gaze unwaveringly. "None."
Sephiroth smirked slightly. "The question is, how do I kill you?"
"Do what you like, so long as I am out of here. I have better things to do than argue with a dead megalomaniac for all of eternity." He spat, "You are not worth my time."
"Perhaps a black hole, so that your body may be painfully rent, limb from limb. Perhaps I release the stasis holding you alive in this vacuum, leaving your bodily fluids to violently depressurize and erupt from every pore in your body. Perhaps I strand you on the nearest arctic planet, to freeze slowly," Sephiroth mused.
"You may hurl me into the hottest star in the universe, for all that I care. Just make your decision and have done with it."
"My, my, you are determined. What would motivate someone in such a way?"
"That is none of your concern. Make your decision."
"The thought of death for your cause doesn't faze you in even the tiniest way?" Sephiroth was ponderous.
"No."
"You do not fear it? You would have no regrets?"
"None at all. What is your point? What are you getting at, Sephiroth?" Vincent was impatient and annoyed.
"What I'm getting at, Vincent Valentine, is the heart of the matter. What I'm getting at, is determination." He gazed at Vincent with a mockingly amused expression. "I see it clearly now." He waved a hand, and Vincent found himself rising into the vacuum, his feet coming off of the remains of the planet. "You pass."
With another wave of his hand, Sephiroth sent Vincent spinning off into space, faster and faster and faster, until the blinding light of a blue star filled his view. He could see no longer, and his path did not slow, but as he was flung straight into the surface of what he was sure was the hottest star in the universe, he felt nothing.
- - - - - - - - - -
Vincent Valentine had no experience with such things as…party games. The pause was actually a tangible shudder in the psyche of the man in question. This was another escapade he had been dragged into by none other than Yuffie Kisaragi herself. It was her twentieth birthday, and therefore, she was having what she loudly proclaimed a "shindig." And there he was.
Currently, they were playing something called Jenga.
From what Vincent could discern, the object of the game was to select an oblong block from a tower of the things and pull it out carefully, so as not to upset the tower. When one did upset the tower, the first one to yell "Jenga!" would win the game. Vincent had no idea as to what "Jenga" meant, or as to whether or not this game had any type of point at all, but Yuffie was annoyingly persistent, so he was playing, albeit uncooperatively.
They were holding Yuffie's party in Tifa's bar in Edge. Vincent glanced around the room idly, his red eyes searching for something to focus on other than the generic game of blocks. Picture hanging on the wall; rag on the table; chair out of place; patch on the leather of the bar stool; cake under a cover on the countertop. Failing to find something more interesting, he focused his attention on the game to see that Tifa, to his right, was picking a block out.
The tower teetered, swaying left and right, and then, just as it started to fall, Vincent opened his mouth and said calmly, "Jen—" but was immediately drowned out by Cid leaping out of his chair and bellowing "JENGA!" at a volume that should not have been possible for someone who smoked quite as much as him.
No one had noticed that he had even attempted to win the game.
Vincent Valentine was not a person who liked to lose. Daring people who had ever gotten into gambling card games with him usually found themselves at a loss of money, their purses down to the smallest cobwebs by the time it was all over. However, there were the select few times in which Vincent had a stroke of ill luck and actually lost. Even more daring people had seen fit to accuse Vincent of being a sore loser, as he had usually demanded rematch after rematch. Those people, needless to say, were not happy when they were introduced to the World of Hurt.
Vincent was determined to win this time. As the game was restarted, he waited patiently for the people around the circle to take their respective turns. At one point, Barret's large brown hands almost knocked the tower over once more, but the column of wooden blocks steadied and lay still. Most around the circle breathed a sigh of relief. The game continued, until, finally it reached Vincent.
Vincent lifted his human hand gracefully, slowly, reaching out to the tower, his sights set on it intently. Then, suddenly, startling almost the whole table, he lashed out, thrusting his hand forward and sending the whole thing awry. Blocks went flying everywhere, bonking a couple of people on various body parts. A few others cried out in protest, shielding themselves and shouting things like "what the HELL?" and "ouch!"
Once the commotion settled down, everyone looked toward Vincent, who was seated calmly in his chair, as before, staring at them all neutrally. A few eyebrows were raised. He opened his mouth to speak, and they all leaned forward imperceptibly, curious at his behavior.
"Jenga."
They gaped at him in silence for a few moments, then Yuffie let out a raucous whoop and clapped momentarily for Vincent, a grin creeping across her face and taking up residence there, from one ear to the next. After she was done laughing heartily at him, she cleared her throat.
"Well, I don't think that could ever be beat, so we're gonna play…somethin' else."
A delighted smile lit her features, and Vincent was not the only one at the party that had a sense of foreboding overtake him.
Vincent tried valiantly to bend his knee into a more comfortable position, but it was nearly impossible to do so without slipping completely off the mat. His elbow was on green, his knees were on red and yellow, and his hand was on red as well. Yuffie was stretched out underneath him in an attempt to reach all her required colors, and he could just barely see the beads of sweat breaking out on her upper lip. Cloud was somewhere near him as well, for he could feel spiky blonde hair jabbing him in the soft part of his upper arm. Nanaki, surprisingly, was having no trouble at all. He just had to make sure his red hot tail was kept safely out of range.
Cait Sith flicked the tiny black spinner again, sending it whirling. It was Vincent's turn once more. He cackled gleefully. "Hey, Vince, left tongue, chartreuse!"
He tried to direct a glare in the cat's direction, but failed entirely, as he couldn't crane his neck at so awkward an angle. "Just kiddin'! Left knee yellow!" Vincent, after a bit of difficulty, managed to shove his knee in that position, but in the process, upset the careful tangle of limbs combined on the mat. The whole group collapsed in a heap, grumbling and complaining.
"Okay," Yuffie heaved out, pushing her hair out of her face, after dislodging her arm from under Cloud's shin. "I think it's time we stop playing Twister and try something else."
"All righty, Tifa." Yuffie addressed the voluptuous martial artist rather suddenly, directing her attention like a focused laser. The look in her eyes boded well for no one, and especially not Tifa herself.
"…truth or dare?"
Tifa contemplated this for a few moments, staring at some point beyond them and obviously thinking deeply. She worried at her lip for a few moments before answering Yuffie unwaveringly. "Truth."
"Bah," Yuffie scoffed. "You picked the chickens' choice. Oh, well, you wanted it so here ya go." Yuffie thought for a split second, until her eyes gleamed unnaturally. "Who was your last wet dream about?"
Tifa's mouth dropped open unattractively and she stared at Yuffie in uncompromised horror. "I…uh…that is to say…" She stammered, tripping over her own tongue. Blushing, she offered up an ultimatum, "I'll just take dare."
Yuffie's face took on a positively delighted look. It was a little bit scary. "Oh, no, that's not how it works. You have to tell the truth if you pick truth. There's no going back. The same with the dares. So, go on, answer the question, Teef. Who's the lucky guy, eh? Eh?"
Tifa's face reddened further and she muttered something under her breath, looking down at her hands in her lap.
"What was that, Teef? Afraid I didn't hear you all that well."
Tifa mumbled unintelligibly again, her gaze flickering briefly to Yuffie, delivering a vicious, blush-tainted glare at the not-so-young-ninja. "I said it was…Cloud, okay? It was Cloud."
Cid snorted into his drink, sloshing liquid over the sides of his cup. Barret steadfastly looked away, trying to seem nonchalant. Cait Sith just cackled maniacally. Red XIII looked knowing. Cloud was flushed a bright tomato-red and was staring at Tifa. His mouth was so far open, if he left it like that long enough, he would've drawn flies. Yuffie let out a very quiet, very vehement, "I knew it." Vincent observed all this with quiet curiosity, watching from his seat at the table in silence.
After a few moments of this, Yuffie broke the tension again. "Well…uh, Tifa, since it was just your turn, you get to ask someone a truth or dare now."
She glared at Yuffie, obviously more than a little peeved, with a look that said, "Your time is coming."
Instead of directing her assault at Yuffie, however, as most people predicted she was going to do, she went for Cait Sith. Reeve was operating him through him at that moment, almost as if he were there in person.
The questions continued to cycle, and no one seemed all that interested in Vincent. He guessed it was because it looked as though if someone approached him with a ridiculous "truth or dare" line, he'd rip out his or her throat. With his teeth
Finally, the game cycled back around to Tifa, and this time, she chose Yuffie, for one reason or another. This time around, Yuffie chose a good, old-fashioned—
"Dare."
A very odd smirk curled at the corners of Tifa's mouth. Wickedly, she proclaimed, "Yuffie, I dare you to kiss Vincent."
Yuffie's face went still as stone as she looked calmly at Tifa. Stiffly, she replied, "Okay." Vincent sat stock-still as Yuffie walked around the table, bent at the waist and placed a peck on his cheek, soft and quick, before sitting back down at her chair. Her face still unnaturally unyielding, she turned to Red XIII. "Truth or dare, Red?"
She stayed that way for the rest of the game; neutral, uncharacteristically so. Vincent had no idea if it was the idea of kissing him anywhere that seemed so disgusting that it had put her in a horrible mood entirely, or if it was something else bothering her. He didn't dwell on it long.
What he did dwell on was the smooth feel of her lips on his cheek, and the scent of her hair as she had come so close to him. As she had leaned forward, some of the sooty strands of it had brushed his cheek, tickling him. It was not a wholly disliked feeling.
Which was what bothered him.